Saturday, December 05, 2015

My foster mom, Bev

First off, thoughts and prayers for Bev, if you will. (Unless you're one of those thoughts-and-prayers dissenters,) We had to have her taken by squad to the local hospital on Thanksgiving eve for what turned out to be bleeding stomach ulcers, gastritis, and congestive heart failure. Her blood oxygen was quite low, and her lungs had fluid in them. She was treated for possible pneumonia, too, though her hospital doc is skeptical--he thinks it was the CHF masquerading as pneumonia. Of course, they gave her antibiotics just in case. Erring on the side of caution is standard procedure when your patient is old and frail. (But, because she's Bev, also mentally sharp and fully alert.)

Apparently, while Bev's 81-year-old heart is strong, she tends to retain fluids, owing to her age and small size. That, plus the drastic decrease in her physical activity since she broke her hip in 2013. The fluid build-up prevents the left side of her heart from fully functioning. Shortness of breath, plus other complications, result.

She's in nursing home rehab right now, and while some of the aides are terrific, others aren't. The place has the usual moronic, corporate-dictated "get the patient up and moving" policy (hey, it's rehab), despite the fact that Bev is suffering a major sleep deficit right now. Since there's absolutely no coordination between the various folks who visit her room, no one got the "Do not disturb" memo. For Christ's sake, if the woman can't get any sleep, how can she perform the various exercises they want her to do? A bureaucracy is a dysfunctional organism wherein one limb has no clue what the other limb is doing (or not doing). It's all about checking off boxes.

Update: Bev reports that she's up to the rehab requirements, now that they've been explained to her. Things aren't as dire as I thought. Which is always a good thing.

2 comments:

Thanks! The problem is, they're slaves to protocol. They don't stop to consider that, hey, this old lady isn't getting enough food or sleep. They just plow ahead with the rehab agenda. Bev's mistake was not being born a robot.

And, ironically, once again I must prove I'm NOT a robot. At my own blog!!

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I was born in Toledo, served in the Navy eight years, graduated from Bowling Green State University with a B.A. in Popular Culture, and worked for fifteen years as a Medicare claims examiner. We reside in the country with eleven cats, two of whom--Griff and Wesley--are my very own tuxedos (black-and-whites).